


Most Definitely His

by Romany



Category: Smallville
Genre: Episode: s01e12 Leech, F/M, M/M, Sexual Roleplay, Slash Role-play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-02
Updated: 2007-04-02
Packaged: 2018-02-09 02:46:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1966023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Romany/pseuds/Romany
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lex finds something of Clark's. He returns it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Most Definitely His

“So what are you reading?” Clark said with that insouciant smile that never ceased to charm. 

Lex allowed himself to be disarmed by the lie of it once again. This innocent facade was an illusion, to be sure; Clark Kent had to be one of the most concerned citizens of Smallville, one who had the uncanny habit of always being in the right place at the right time.

Of course, the right place, at the moment, happened to be Lex Luthor's kitchen. Could he help it if he happened to need a cup of coffee at the same time as the scheduled Kent Farm delivery?

“Just going over the proof for the new exhibit brochure.” Alexander's breastplate had remained unscathed, but certain other artifacts had not. The whole exhibit had to be redesigned. Why he personally had to see to the details, he didn't quite know, considering the other projects that took up a considerable amount of his time. That's what people were for.

Clark put away all but two of the apples, casually tossed one to Lex, bit into the one he kept.

“Don't you want to wash that first?” Lex said, somewhat appalled.

Grinning, he said, “I'll take my chances. Besides, Lex, our produce is organic, not poisoned.”

Resisting the urge to lecture Clark on the horrors of e.coli and salmonella, he quietly washed his apple. He knew all too well that the myth of adolescent invincibility wasn't easily shattered, but that didn't mean that he had to take unnecessary chances. After all, irony of ironies, Alexander had most likely perished from food poisoning.

“Comparing yourself to Alexander again?” Clark said with something startlingly resembling a smirk. That never seemed to fail to charm either.

Lex merely said, “History has much to teach, Clark.”

“Well, speaking of, gotta run and meet Pete and Chloe to go over our project. Do you think history could teach us just a little less?” And, yes, that smirk again—and Jesus, was that a wink?--as if he didn't know the effect it could possibly have. How a certain Miss Lang could remain implacable to that, Lex had no clue. “Catch you later?”

Yes. Always. “If time allows.”

And as a certain kitchen door closed behind a certain Kansas farm boy, Lex looked at the apple in his hand and bit, hard.

“Oh, Lex, really. The delivery boy? That's positively clichéd.”

He turned around to find that Victoria had uncharacteristically descended to the kitchen. “As if I'd have time for anyone but you, Victoria.” He bit into his apple again with relish, waved his hand dismissively towards the kitchen door. “With what we're trying to accomplish, who has time for distractions?”

She pushed herself away from the door frame and walked towards him, wrapped her hands around his neck, and said without the slightest hint of jealousy...almost interest, “We both know that your tastes tend toward...the Byzantine, so don't tell me that you don't have some scheme in the works.”

Lex leaned down, kissed her lightly. “He saved my life, the least I can do is throw a little business by his parents.”

“What kind of business?” she said, eyes twinkling with faux innocence.

Lex laughed. He had to at the thought of Jonathan and Martha Kent ever prostituting their son to anyone, let alone a Luthor. Clark Kent was not, and would never be, for sale: not for all the tea in China; not for a shiny new truck; not for any business loan, no matter how small the interest. Some people could never be bought; some debts could never be repaid. Lex found himself wishing this to be true with each new attempt to prove it otherwise.

Clark Kent, for want of a better word, was turning out to be priceless.

So Lex's hand trembled only so slightly with the urge to tear her hair out at the suggestion. He stroked her hair and whispered, “You are wonderfully wicked, but so very wrong.” He kissed her again. “He saved your life too, you know. You should be grateful.”

Her hips were grinding into his now, forcing him back into the counter. “Oh, Lex, but I am. So I forgive any possible transgression on your part...” She managed to reach down and just feather his cock with her fingertips. “...as long as I can have full participation.”

Although the thought of turning his and Victoria's bedroom into a private sex education class for the young Mr. Kent did nothing to diminish his erection, he would be damned if Victoria was going to introduce Clark to the sordid world of the bored and famous. Lex was not used to such ambivalences. They affected his timing. He could not afford to show any proprietary indignation now. He managed an affectionate, but bored, laugh.

“Christ, Victoria, he's fifteen. How entertaining could he be? Certainly not worth the hick town scandal.” He didn't say, 'I have to live here; you're just visiting,' because, at this point, it was imperative that she believe her stay indefinite.

Lex, by this time, had reversed their positions so that she was perched on the counter. He reached underneath her skirt to her hip and yanked the delicate underwear, which he was sure to replace, indelicately off. It didn't take long to get a slow and lazy fuck going. 

“Could you possibly be bored with me already?” he said. And just to prove that their positions might possibly be reversed there as well, he took another bite out of the apple that he had refused to drop.

Almost masking her irritation, her rhythm increased as she braced both arms on the edge of the counter, “Lex, please do try to focus.”

“I'm always focused,” he said as he offered her a bite from the apple. Her eyes widened just that much, and she smiled the first genuine smile he'd seen from her in weeks. “Indulge me,” he said. And she did, biting down.

The kiss...the kiss was actually sweet.

“Remember when we were fifteen?” she said. From out of nowhere, really, but Lex knew what she meant.

“Yes,” he said, letting softness creep into his voice. He remembered them sneaking out of her father's manor during one of the few brittle Luthor-Hardwick detentes, fucking in the garden shed for the delicious joy of it. He remembered moss and toppled pots and their bodies still fumbling with technique. “Yes, I do.”

She looked up at him. With the smallest catch in her voice, she asked, “What happened?”

He shushed and kissed her, letting the rhythm take a gentler pace. He could say that they had become more valuable pieces in their fathers' war, that any vestige of innocence was now just laughable memory. They were both too hungry, enjoyed the game too much, to ever claim the role of victim.

“We grew up,” he said, finally, as she came against him.

 

“Lex,” she cooed from inside of the walk-in closet. “Look what I've found.”

He had taken to bed a rather banal but wonderfully misleading corporate report so it didn't take much to make him look up with a distracted “Hmmm?”

And out stepped Victoria wearing nothing but the largest men's plaid flannel shirt that he had ever seen. She looked quite ridiculous in it, tiny, hands invisible as she waved the sleeves around. “Tell me again how 'unentertaining' your young delivery boy is.”

Lex, silently cursing whatever Smallville oddity had placed that in his closet, laughed and said, “Seriously, Victoria, I have no idea how that got in there.” Which was true. He would never be that obvious. But he happened to be rather tired and wondered how to convince her of this truth.

But she didn't press for it. Instead she slinked seductively towards the bed. “Lex, I don't really care.” She straddled him and said, “Let's play. Oh yes, let's.”

“Well, well, you are full of surprises. Too bad this does absolutely nothing for me.” He reached back to the night table for a sip of scotch. “Now you could try on some of my clothes, that might be fun.”

She actually seemed to consider this, but ground herself against him. “Your lie detector says otherwise.”

Lex put the tumbler back down, put both hands behind his head, and ground back. “That has everything to do with you, not with what you're wearing.” He smiled. “I don't have a clown fetish.”

“You're absolutely horrid,” she said as she kissed him.

“Always,” he whispered. 

But she kept kissing, running her mouth along his jaw, and he slowly realized that she had no intention of taking that shirt off.

“Victoria...I'm really not into costumes. Seriously, you look ridiculous.”

“Well then close your eyes, Lex. That shouldn't be so hard,” she said as she nibbled on his neck. So he did, briefly. One thing he could say about her, she never let silly things like words hurt her.

Well, some battles could be conceded in the cause of war so he sighed and said, “Alright, should I be the milkmaid? I presume we're playing Farmer in the Dell.”

She jumped up after giving him a quick peck. “Your role's quite easy actually,” she said as she disappeared back into the closet. She came back with his long coat. With the most stunning smile, she announced, “You get to be yourself.”

He reached out one languid hand for the coat and put it on. “Is this some sort of test?” It most decidedly was. “Any rules that I should be aware of?”

“Only one. You have to call me Clark.” She smiled again as she sank back down on the bed. “That shouldn't be too hard, should it?”

He grabbed her wrists, held them over her head. “If you insist.”

 

He had her on her knees, face down in the pillow, his dick buried in her lovely ass. He couldn't see anything but the broad expanse of flannel. He had one fist curled in it, like the reins of some magnificent horse. Jesus, it must be his. It smelled like him. “You knew...knew this would happen, didn't you...Clark.”

It was all he could manage to keep anything but the mildest passion or fervor from his voice, the words cheap and stilted. He had to keep it a game.

She laughed into her elbow. Even though she was working her clit with her other hand, he was far from gentle. It had to hurt, even if just a bit. “Lex...Oh God, Lex...never...never thought you'd notice me...” She had even managed to keep her voice deeper, the register never rising to more feminine levels. Fucking, fucking bitch. God, she was marvelous.

“Like that? This what you want? This...fuck...Clark...” Okay, Lex stay with the script. That was almost believable.

It wasn't just her, whatever information she thought she could get here, from this. He had security sweep the premises every day to ensure that the only surveillance devices were his. But since they never could keep an alarming number of the enraged citizenry from breaking and entering on a weekly basis to do harm to his person, he suspected that his father paid them to be incompetent.

And information, of any sort, was power to his father.

So he closed his eyes, gripped the fabric harder, almost pulling her up against him. He let a moment's silence transport him until he was flying across a cornfield, across a bridge, tumulting until he flew across a Smallville that had no end, glorious and forever... “Oh Jesus...fuck...Clark!”

He collapsed on top of her, pushing her down so that her face only missed the headboard by an inch or so. He had no idea if she came or not, didn't care. But the way she shivered and shuddered beneath him, he presumed that she had. He held her for a moment, rolling them both to their sides. Kissed the back of her neck, just above the collar, taking in the scent. Yes, this was most definitely his.

“We should go wash up,” he said, pulling out, pulling away.

 

After they returned to the bedroom, in a not so comfortable silence, Lex contemplated the discarded shirt and coat crumpled on the bed. Although he had a plant management meeting scheduled first thing in the morning, he scooped up the plaid shirt and put it on. Tossing her the coat, he lay back on the bed and said, grinning, “My turn to be the farm boy.”

And Victoria donned the long coat with a satisfying flourish. “Lex, you really are so deliciously bad.”

He leaned up on one elbow and into her kiss. “Remember that. It's your turn to be me.”

 

“Lex, hey...um, I'm sorry about Victoria,” Clark said with that painfully honest expression, care and concern as if he could solve all the world's problems if he just tried harder. It would be irritating if it weren't so endearing.

Lex rose from his desk, leaving business that must be attended. But he always had time for this. This amazing boy who had insinuated himself into the four chambers of his heart as easily as he always seemed to find Lex within his many-chambered castle.

“Don't be, Clark. Besides, it's not your fault.” Leaning back, he crossed his arms against his chest, too little protection, too late. Something about barn doors and horses. “Some things just aren't meant to be.”

Lex smiled, remembering that Victoria had proven herself to be exactly what he thought. After all, he hadn't hung her out to dry. He had merely sold her the rope with which to do it.

“Well, you know, if there's anything I can do...” Clark said, taking that one step closer. Oh foolish, foolish boy. He really did have the most amazing eyes. They were the nakedest, most human thing that Lex had ever seen.

And that was the most painful thing, that the lie hadn't been anything unique or mysterious. Clark so fervently believed in his own invincibility that he had Lex so dangerously close to believing it too. Now Lex knew for a fact that Clark merely threw himself into a situation and literally got the shit kicked out of him. He had seen the bruises for himself this time, at the hospital. Christ, what kind of person does that?

Could he find it so hard to believe that someone, a stranger, would risk so much for him? Take that impossible dive and pull him out of his own folly? This was no god, no alien, no creature, but another fucking human being whose only lie right now was how much pain he was in from his last ass-kicking. Protecting Lex still, trying to comfort him. Just. Too. Fucking. Much.

“No, Clark. I'm fine. Thank you.” And if you don't step away from me right now, this very minute, I will not be responsible for my actions. Kansas state law, be damned. “Really, I have matters to attend to now, Clark. Some other time perhaps?”

Clark stepped back, uncertain, looking for all the world like he'd encroached, done the wrong thing. It made Lex almost want to reach out and say, 'Intrude all you want.' Almost.

Fuck him, but he had it bad. So, so laughable.

Lex knew with certainty that he would never touch him, that he would do everything in his power to give him Lana Lang. Let them have their fairy tale, their young and impossible love.

And if he had anything to say about it, he'd send a certain Chloe Sullivan in after them just because, well, he happened to like her. And the undoing of Clark's belief in the quaint monogamy that his parents put on display would bring some small amount of pleasure. 

But he also knew with the same certainty that Clark wouldn't make it to seventeen without Lex ramming his dick into some part of that unbelievable body. God, just to crawl inside it. Lana and Chloe would be ever so conveniently away for that. Just his. Just for him.

All of these possibilities orbited the future. Lex wasn't about to open the Shrodinger's Box called Clark now. Not today. So Lex stood away from his desk and sat back down behind it, picked up another interminable report.

“You're sure you're okay?” Clark hesitated in the doorway, filled it.

“Yes, Clark, I'll be sure to stop by later.” Why was that again? Oh yes, the shirt.

For there, draped over the back of the office couch, was that ridiculous plaid shirt.

“Clark, wait a minute, I wanted to ask you if that was yours.” And Lex just nodded, ever so slightly, towards the couch and waited for recognition or denial.

“Hey! I was wondering where this was! Did I leave this here?” Clark smiled, with that pleasure one can only take in the little things, and picked up the shirt. And started to put it on. Today, of all days, Clark happened to be sporting just a blue t-shirt. Why hadn't Lex noticed that before?

Lex repressed a shudder, felt the strangled thrill of it crawl down his spine.

“Wait, Clark, I'd wash that first if I were you. You don't know where that's been.”

Clark lifted one arm, sniffed, the ludicrous bachelor's test. “Smells clean. You'd warn me if your chauffeur used it to wash your car or something, wouldn't you?” Such graceful humor, such trust, believing Lex to be something that he wasn't but sometimes wished he could be.

Made him want to be a better man? Movie cliché, but the buried truth nonetheless. God, he needed a drink. Noon, and he already needed a drink.

He could only grin while saying, “Why no, Clark, of course I wouldn't.”

And then the glorious laugh. He needed that drink. Now.

“See ya, Lex.”

“See you, Clark.”

Lex waited until he heard those footsteps fade before he rose and poured himself a scotch, neat. He went to the window and watched Clark drive away. He took slow even sips, watching the dust settle back down upon the driveway.


End file.
